Let's Do Things We Can Both Regret
by JannP
Summary: He wants her so bad and that's pretty much obvious 24/7 inside his head. It's a little bit of a problem.


**A/N: **Something a little lighter and unrelated to basically anything (except **Matt Nathanson's** new song **Kinks Shirt**). Because I needed to write something that fit those two things and I think other people probably need or want to read it. Let me know what you think. Thanks Crissy and Brittany for betas.

**Disclaimer**: Shut up. I don't own it.

* * *

**Let's Do Things We Can Both Regret**

He'd only been here, like, twenty minutes maybe and he's in his full get-up because he had to be, not because he wants to be. He knows once he makes it to the base in San Diego, he'll blend in with the rest of the Marines. However, that's a different story when he's at the airport, having flown by himself from home. Right now he definitely does _not_ blend. There's nothing faded or passing-interest about the stares he's garnering. He's a little used to it because of his height but he's a lot not used to it on account of the uniform. It's a different kind of discomfort and he's trying really hard to just ignore it – and most of the people doing it.

He stops suddenly and very nearly wears his coffee (some spilled and he was gonna be fucked if it didn't blend into the pixelated camo) to avoid running into _her_ though, so he supposes that says something. Obviously _she_ didn't see him.

He doesn't say anything and keeps walking through the mildly busy airport concourse, but his eyes do wander over her. She's wearing the craziest combination of clothes—a kinda faded t-shirt from a band with slightly dirty name, red lace peeking out of the bottom, black pants….her nails and lips are just as red as her undershirt and her sunglasses cover at least half her face even though she's, y'know, inside.

She's there, though, when he gets to the luggage carousel and she slips the sunglasses over the top of her hair like a headband. It's pretty obvious she does not give a shit one way or the other how she looks (now, that is. She did when she got ready for her flight or whatever but she's not being prissy and high-maintenance about it and he thinks that makes her like a thousand times hotter, if that's possible.) She looks over at him. "You should be more careful when you're walking. Coffee on camo looks kind of like shit."

He laughs a little and looks down at himself and yeah, it didn't blend in. She's not entirely wrong. He's hoping he'll have enough time to stop at the PX and pick up a new shirt on his way into the base because this is not gonna go over well at orientation or whatever it is they're doing this evening for the new arrivals.

"Yeah, well. Maybe you should be more careful where you're stopping," he teases lightly. "Give a guy some warning."

She raises her eyebrow at him but doesn't say anything until she's stepping forward to get her bag. "That is just not ever gonna happen, Army." Her voice sounds amused—throaty and hot, if he's honest, which he'll only be with himself because who says that kinda thing out loud?—and he just shakes his head instead of taking the chance to correct her that he's a Marine. "Catch you later."

She's gone before he gets the chance to ask her _where_ – or, y'know, anything else. Making up a name for her in his head sounds fun and is what he does on the bus ride from the airport to Pendleton anyway.

* * *

He bunks with dudes. He works all the time. It's pretty obvious that's all a little too much male around him because he can't stop thinking about the sassy girl from the airport. Or her red lips. God, her voice. Or her… just her. All of her.

He wants her so bad and that's pretty much obvious 24/7 inside his head. It's a little bit of a problem.

* * *

Two weeks later he walks into a bar. No punchline. Just… seriously that's what happens. Not a big deal.

It's his first weekend pass and he didn't know it was gonna come through 'til this morning so he was just kind of shit out of luck for something to do. Exploring the city seems like as good of an idea as any with these passes, and he's never really had a problem just setting off alone like this. He's gonna be stationed here for a while for training so he might as well get to know the place a little and actually, like, enjoy it. Seeing the world was part of the point of joining the military.

Somehow he's not sure he entirely grasped the point because this bar is kinda like any other you could walk into. It's not a total dive but it's also not, like, nice either.

He drops down into a seat right at the main bar because he's, y'know, by himself. It's one of those places with a little bit of restaurant seating and menus and stuff so he grabs one and starts looking at it. Maybe he'll have dinner here and then go find a movie or something. He's not really sure when he stopped knowing what to do with free time, but he's got it stretching in front of him for a whole other day and no idea what he's gonna do with it all.

He recognizes the voice that asks what it can get started for him, though.

He's kind of been hearing it inside his head and, okay, inside a couple of dreams that meant he had to sneak off to the shower before first call because… right.

He looks up and his head isn't tricking him or anything. It's the girl from the airport. She looks different but the same. Better, if that's possible. Probably because she doesn't have however many hours of air travel on her. She's got a bandanna headband thing and her hair is all twisted up in it, probably because it's hot as hell outside. He can't help the way his eyes drop down her body but he's not being a creep. He really isn't. It's just he orders something and a beer – no he can't really say more specifically than that what actually came out of his mouth. It's not a problem. He's not _that_ picky.

The problem, though, is that he stays forever and drinks too much and has to stumble back to base a little… less than sober. He stayed too long, staring at her and trying not to be a creep. Her name tag gave her away (Santana – he was _way_ off) and she didn't talk to him or seem to recognize him at all but the way she smiled when he left and offered a "good night", a little genuinely and almost like she didn't want to do it or be saying it (he thinks. Maybe. Maybe he was reading way too much into that), is enough to give his buzzy head some new material and he can't really sleep. His imagination is too loud.

* * *

There's a lot of waiting in line during this part of training. He has to wait for his turn to run an obstacle course or be 'evaluated' for his SCUBA skill. When there's like 20 other guys doing the same stuff, sometimes it takes awhile. Especially because some of them kind of suck at it and waste time getting yelled at.

Of course, he turns into that guy when he zones out for a solid minutes in the middle of a daydream featuring Santana while he was trying to get that bandana thing out of her hair because wrapping his fingers through a girl's hair when it's long and tugging her head back so he can see her neck and kiss it is one of his favorite things ev—

"HUDSON!"

Yeah. This needs to stop. He's not totally sure he wants it too, though, because reality is usually flawed somehow.

(It's really easy to feel that way while he gets yelled at and forced to do extra swimming laps until he can find a way to prove to the Sarge that he's focused instead of distracted.)

* * *

The atmosphere is slightly insane but he likes it. He can't really think of it as a bad thing; he can't really _think_ period. There's just too much going on to really focus in on one thing. For someone who's spent so much time feeling lost, like all he does is blend in (and let's be real, the uniform hasn't helped much with that but he's out of uniform and now… well now his plain black t-shirt and jeans stick out more)—he likes it. He likes being part of the crowd. This crowd is fun. They're laughing, most are at least a little drunk… there's singing going on but no definitive music. The smell from the food is kind of mashed together into this generic scent that's a little spicy and a little sweet and it's all just kind of awesome.

This is one of the better weekends he's used a pass.

All of his meals in the last day or so have been tucked into his palm on a piece of waxed paper that's supposed to keep his skin from getting sticky; he usually ends up licking fingers anyway. He'd basically slept in a gutter even though he wasn't nearly as drunk as the late-night contingent.

Anyway. He'll never be able to explain how he picks her out. Or, y'know, how he picks her out _again_ actually. She's with a group. It's some sort of a street performance dance… cultural thing. He has no idea what he's even attending at this point. There's a lot of tequila around and a fair amount of people doing embarrassing things and forgetting they did them later. He's pretty sure he hasn't done anything embarrassing yet. That might change, though. He's not entirely ruling it out.

So she's with a group. They're wearing something that has to be a uniform. There's like a dozen or so girls and guys who match and there's a courtyard and whatever. It's still hot but summer's basically over and it's the best time of year for this kind of stuff. The dancers—performers because some of them are singing in Spanish and you can actually feel the energy go up like _significantly_ as they perform. He does admittedly get caught up in it, dancing (badly) with a couple of girls who sort of make him and laugh at him but it's okay because he's laughing too. Everyone's just friendly and lively and in motion and nothing in Ohio is ever really like this and, even if the Marines are hard and there's more hard in front of him, he's glad he came.

He's basically high on the feeling all of that gives him when he approaches her. She's got a wet towel in her hand he saw her using to pat her face and neck and a huge bottle of water she's drinking from. She's not being dainty about it either and he appreciates that because she just danced her guts out and it's hot and crowded and yeah. She manages to be not delicate and totally gorgeous all at the same time. He has no fucking idea what it is about her but he wants to find out.

"Um… hi," he starts. He sounds hesitant even though he isn't. "Excuse me?" He starts again; this time she turns and he watches her pull the bottle away from her mouth as her eyes narrow. "Hi."

"You've said that twice now. Hi. Do I know you?"

He bites his lip and sees a bead of sweat trailing down her neck and over her collarbone and he has no right to stare, but he's thinking she doesn't have any right to stand in front of him being that sexy either. (Actually, that's not true. He's just appreciating how sexy she is and trying not to be a dick about it. Discreet or whatever. He's failing and he knows it.)

"No. At least… well. I've seen you around."

Her eyes get more narrow. Is it dry out here or is that just his tongue? Yeah. That's what he thought. He dips his head and lets out a laugh that he hope will help him recapture some sort of bravado before she rolls her eyes and walks away.

"Okay," she says. Her voice isn't hot this time, it's flat, like she's bored with this. Fuck, he doesn't blame her. He can't remember words.

"I… you made me spill coffee on myself at the airport and you work at Bastards."

"Are you a fucking stalker?"

"No... _no_," he sputters. "I just… I keep seeing you places and you're… you're pretty easy to remember."

"Not convincing me here."

He swallows. He knows she can see it. It's a little loud, but she probably heard it. He's so getting kicked in the nuts in, like, ten seconds.

"Sorry. It just… I keep seeing you. I'm stationed at Pendleton so I'm around and … it's not even all the time it's just sometimes when I have a weekend pass that I see you," he lets out in a gigantic rush. He has his sunglasses on, so thank God she can't see his eyes surveying her reaction and preparing to defend himself. "This is the first time I've gotten the courage up to talk to you because you're hot—beautiful actually—" he corrects and he sees her mouth tip up at the corner like she's amused but it's totally against her will. He figures he's doing something right and he'd better keep talking. Maybe. He does it anyway. "—and anyway, I just wanted to say you did great." He gestures toward the now-empty performance area in the park. "It looked like you had a lot of fun and I'm sure it sounds creepy as hell, but, like, I've kind of been ridiculously happy about running into you in these random places and I'd like to get to know you better." The corners of her mouth go back down. He puts his hands out and quickly corrects himself and fuck, if he wasn't already sweating, he would be now. "No! I mean just if you want to or something. I'll… you look like you could use a drink after this conversation and I'm totally willing to make it happen."

Her smile cracks open and she laughs loud enough to earn a few curious glances.

"God, you're unfortunate." Her eyes rake over his body skeptically though. "You somehow make it work, though. I don't actually want to punch you."

"Thank God," he breathes out and his shoulders finally relax a little. It makes her laugh again.

"Come with me," she says and he sees the tip of her tongue rubbing against the inside of her cheek and damn it—thinking it about her when she's a fantasy and not in front of him is one thing. Thinking it when he sees her and is talking to her is another and he feels like a jerk but he follows her anyway, trying to quiet the dirty thoughts in his head and curb the urge to watch her legs.

Easier said than done.

* * *

He's got his beer and she's got her…whatever it is on the rocks. They've chit-chatted a little, exchanges names and stuff but mostly it's just trying to catch their breath from the oppressive heat outside at first.

"Asking you out seems like a really bad idea," he admits. "But I want to do it anyway."

She rolls her eyes. "Let me save you the trouble. You aren't my type."

"Oh," he says. He tips the beer bottle back even though it's not that empty and it's almost too fast. He chokes a little and wipes his lip with his thumb. "Okay then."

"Your boobs are way too small." She tilts her head. "I probably caught you a couple years too late for those."

He narrows his eyes. "I didn't have boobs."

"Are you gonna tell me you were always…" she waves her hand at him.

He laughs. "I played like four different sports. Boot camp filled me out but I wasn't ever… I didn't have man boobs." He narrows his eyes a little as he catches on. "So you just… you date girls."

"Mmhm," she says, pushing her lips together and making her cheekbones look really pretty.

"Me too," he offers before he takes another pull of his beer while she laughs. He could get used to that sound too.

* * *

(He does. Get used to it, that is. He's not even that heartbroken over losing the fantasy material. He really likes being friends with her because she's hilarious. She says she likes being friends with him, too. He learns she was performing as part of a dance major and she learns that he's hopeless at picking up women—obviously. After a while, she even stops bagging on him for trying to pick her up at a street festival in Oceanside, unless they're really drunk.

He lets her believe she was his first real heartbreak and she teaches him the right way to approach a woman. In the end, everyone wins. Okay, maybe not everyone, but the two of them at least.)


End file.
